


Better wait till they`re married

by letmebegenericinpeace



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dolokhov looks out for the Kuragin siblings, M is for marriage, M is for the horrors and burdens of human existence, Marriage, Open to Interpretation, Other, Pierre doesnt understand women, cause he isnt here dammit, everyone is vaguely queer, yearning for Andrei
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 11:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30054585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmebegenericinpeace/pseuds/letmebegenericinpeace
Summary: 'The Duel' is prevented when Pierre pulls his head out of his ass for a moment, hears Anatole literally moaning about Natasha and puts two and two together.Hélène plays a game of 'take a shot each time your husband makes you want to gouge your eyes out'.Together they might come to an agreement.Meanwhile Anatole`s wasted, Dolokhov`s protective, Natasha is mentioned and Andrei isn`t here.
Relationships: Pyotr "Pierre" Kirillovich Bezukhov & Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	Better wait till they`re married

They were, officially, respectfully dining in an English club, a man, his wife, her lover and brother. They took small bites after each shot of vodka, but not after the first one, never the first. Pierre only kept taking shots, his gaze directed at the rich spread on the table but looking through it. How was it at the frontline? Did they feed their soldiers well? 

Some patron had already gotten drunk в хлам and was harassing a servant.

‘Mon vieux, est-ce que ça va?’ Anatole asked in a fluent French slur.

Повеса, Anatole Vasilievich was, and Pierre wondered if the man even knew the word or that he was one. His brother-in-law was looking at him, either patiently waiting for an answer or not really caring and just trying to focus on something while the alcohol in his system was starting to kick in and Pierre happened to be in the way.

‘Thinking of our fellow men on the frontline,’ he answered honestly. He was.

Anatole hummed in the tone by which Pierre knew he wasn’t paying attention. He was maybe a shot or two from lamenting on his miserable fate as one does when one’s wasted.

A man, one like Anatole, despite being an existentially miserable creature as they all were, hardly had anything to worry about. It wasn’t that Kuragin didn’t have any problems in his life, it was that he couldn’t care any less about them. He was young, exceptionally handsome and not particularly burdened by morality, a great man in the making if you please. His woes were trivial and easy to overcome for someone as liberal in decency, the only reason for his contempt to rise was that he hadn’t gotten what he wanted immediately. 

‘Natasha,’ Anatole moaned.

Oh. Час от часу не легче.

Pierre was much more aware of transgressions in high society, his and others, не от проницательности природной, а по горькому опыту. This was going to be a headache, for more people Anatole could even imagine would be involved. His wife and Dolokhov sensed the same from what he gathered. Better wait till she’s married. As if Anatole had ever known waiting. Dolokhov lay his entire arm on Kuragin’s shoulders, which, Pierre knew, felt like a python leisurely wrapping itself into rings to strangle you. The muscles on the arm tensed as Dolokhov drew Anatole’s head closer whispering urgently into his ear. His wife took a shot and hissed at the bitterness quickly taking a bite of a cute little canapé with butter and red caviar. Pierre could fit maybe ten to fifteen of these suckers in his mouth if he wanted to. She was holding the bitten one in two fingers. Her hands, like everything else about her, were soft and delicate yet there was strength to them. Were Pierre smaller, her brother’s build or even Dolokhov’s, she’d probably have sat on his torso with her thighs grounding his arms and gently but firmly pressed a pillow to his face while he slept. He’d have struggled to break free but those thighs gripped like a vice and he’d be dead from the lack of oxygen in no time. Pierre remembered bigger hands, equally well kept but there were calluses left from fencing and shooting, stronger, firmer hands.

Dolokhov and Anatole were arguing quietly their heads pressed to one another. Anatole was scowling like a petulant child but he didn’t shrug off the arm on his shoulders nor did he pull away.

There was silence between Pierre and his wife, it was always either silence or arguments with them. He’d never reached out to change this and he didn’t believe it would work. Women were strange, mystical creatures to him, his own wife more so than anyone else. He didn’t know whether they knew truces. No, that wasn’t quite right. He didn’t know whether she knew truces nor whether she’d abide by one. He was just drunk enough to try.

‘Lena,’ he murmured softly. 

Manicured fingers around the freshly refilled рюмки tensed. Hélène sat there frozen and if Pierre hadn’t known better, he’d have said he saw a flash of fear in the corner of her eye.

‘Pyotr Kirillovich,’ she answered not looking at him.

‘If Anatole asks you to help him with Natasha, don’t,’ he paused. ‘Please.’

‘He’s my brother.’

‘That’s exactly why I’m asking.’

Hélène turned to him sharply her eyes blazing and Pierre realized how this might have come out.

‘I only meant that he is very dear to you.’

Pierre felt a stare on himself and shortly met Dolokhov’s narrowed eyes. Anatole was muttering something into his shoulder but Pierre doubted he was actually talking to Dolokhov.

Hélène looked back at Dolokhov when she saw Pierre’s attention elsewhere. Dolokhov broke their little stare off to look at Elena with a raised brow. When she shook her head placatingly, tension broke and Dolokhov clapped Anatole’s back moving a plate with sliced perch to him.

Hélène now faced Pierre wetting her lips though she wasn’t meeting his eyes again.

‘Still carrying old affections, are we?’

‘Nothing much changed for me not to.’

He didn`t love her so why would anyone in his place forget whatever specks of tenderness that were left in this bleak life of unhappy marriage? If anything, those feelings had only gotten more intense.

‘You are married now.’

‘And so are you.’

The neutral expression on her face soured slightly, either from the reminder that she was stuck with Pierre or he`d let his inner contempt seep out once again. Pierre didn`t know ни черта of what was happening in his wife`s head but it sure wasn`t possessiveness of him or jealousy. Hélène would trade him for a pair of gloves, and not even the good silken ones sent straight from Paris.

‘Will the newly wed Bolkonskys be joining us in our outings after dear Andrei’s finally here?’

‘I’ve missed Andrei,’ he said and though he`d been thinking it since the troops had been sent to meet the French invaders, it was the first time Pierre said it out loud. ‘I’d be glad to have him.’

How strange it was to be honest with Hélène after all this time. It had never ended up well in any way before and Pierre was an idiot to think it would now but if a man dined как в лучших домах Парижа, his wife, no matter how good or bad, was draped in styles fashionable in French court and his brother-in-law alongside the entirety of Russian aristocracy spoke French as naturally as a nightingale sang its tune, then maybe Pierre could adopt their way to save face while his wife was clearly cheating on him.

‘And what of Natasha?’ she asked and Pierre wondered at the slight tremor at her voice.

‘I don’t mind her,’ he answered honestly once more.

Natasha was young, and pretty, and agreeable. There was quite frankly no reason for anyone to dislike her unless it was these three characteristics you despised and people of that sort weren`t rare but they usually kept to themselves.

‘Just don’t mind?’

Whatever she was getting at, Pierre had trouble catching on so he thought of Natalya once more and when he couldn`t find anything he should be minding or more than not minding, he thought maybe it was some matter with her fiance Hélène might be implying.

‘Do you mind Andrei?’

Hélène smiled fondly. Pierre actually liked it when she smiled like that.

‘He is so obviously pained by small talk. I wonder if he’s relieved to be among the troops.’

‘Sometimes I wish I was there with him.’

‘I always wish you were too,’ she muttered bitterly and took a shot she`d been holding the whole time.

‘Why did you even marry me?’ Pierre asked as he found himself not even angry but curious.

‘Don’t pretend I had much of a choice in the matter,’ she shrugged and though Pierre disagreed, he decided he`d listen to what she had to say. ‘Unlike you.’

No, he wasn`t listening to that.

‘I was deceived.’

‘Remind me of that every single day, now will you?’

‘You haven’t exactly done anything to redeem yourself to me, madame. Au contraire.’

‘Redeem,’ she rolled on her tongue.

There was a pause as Hélène poured herself another shot, emptied it in one gulp, looked at the plates with her fingers dancing but then didn`t choose anything and poured herself another shot.

‘Or apologize at least.’

Hélène`s hand with the glass stopped midair and she put it down on the table with a thump.

‘Would an apology really satisfy you, husband?’

‘It would be nice to hear one for a change.’

‘Would I get one in return?’

She was facing him with her entire body now, her cheek leaning against her fist. It should have been uncomfortable with all the rings.

‘What do I have to apologize for? You’re the reason every socialite in Moscow calls me a cuckold behind my back.’

And, yes. He knew how pathetic it was when he said that he was just enjoying the evening at home.

‘Maybe for giving every socialite in Moscow a reason to call me a slut in my face,’ she said seriously and even illustrated the last word by pointing at herself jerkily.

‘You’ve succeeded in that all on your own.’

‘So have you.’

‘I don’t remember throwing you onto his lap.’

‘You’ve never seen me anywhere near his lap, fool.’

‘If I haven’t seen something, it doesn’t mean it’s not happening.’

‘It means exactly that where societal norms are concerned. And why are you even so sure? Вы что, свечку держали? You spend night and day in your study, drinking yourself into oblivion and pouring over esoteric nonsense God knows for what. You refuse to go anywhere with me unless there is booth served. What am I supposed to do? Sit at home and put either a glass of vodka or рассол into your shaking hold?’

‘Why do you think I drink, woman?’ he said louder than was acceptible even for the wasted patrons.

Pierre felt Dolokhov`s eyes on himself but at that moment was too riled up to care about the душегуб. His wife calmly shook her head at Dolokhov and put her hand on Pierre`s shoulder and it took a lot out of him to not slap it away.

‘You do not drink because of me, Pyotr Kirillovich. You drink because it is true love you want. Do you realize how frustrating it is to live with a man like you?’

‘A man who dares to wish?’

‘A man who fails to act. Imagine, I won’t be helping Anatole with Natasha alright. Don’t think you’ll be getting anywhere with her after she’s married, you sad, stout man.’

‘I’m not planning to, wife.’

‘Could have fooled me.’

‘I’m not trying to. I wholeheartedly wish her and Andrei happiness. This is why you must listen.’

‘And what if I don’t?’

‘Don’t you have the tiniest bit of compassion for the poor girl? Do you not like her?’

‘She is quite charming.’

‘Wouldn’t you want to have her and Andrei visit us, us to visit them? Go to outings together as married couples tend to congregate?’

‘Would you even go? You never have.’

‘When Napoleon’s dead or defeated at least, I will be more than receptive of what doctors have to say.’

‘Why? What would change?’

‘Andrei’ll be here. It is high time our family stopped being the scandal of the day.’

Silence stretched. Hélène circled the edge of her glass with a middle finger, then pushed it away.

‘Then staying here any longer is not an option.’

‘Really?’ Pierre couldn`t help but ask wondering what the catch was.

‘My husband finally has a proper talk with me instead of cursing and telling me to shut up. So yes, Pierre, no one’s touching a single hear on Countess Rostova’s pretty little head,’ Hélène raised her voice then. ‘Dolokhov, Anatole, I want to go home now.’

‘So soon?’ Anatole mumbled and blinked at his sister slowly.

‘I need to make myself and the old man here presentable for a dinner with the Rostovs.’

‘Will you ask Natasha to the ball?’ he asked and the way Anatole spoke her name so tenderly, one would almost believe he was actually in love.

‘I will enquire, brother,’ when Pierre frowned and was about to open his mouth, she looked him straight in the eyes; ‘but I can’t make any promises whether she’d come or not.’

**Author's Note:**

> French: Mon vieux, est-ce que ça va? - Old man, you alright?
> 
> So here`s an unhealpful guide of Russian words and expressions including those that modern people only encounter in literature written before the XX century:  
> в хлам - wasted  
> повеса - a very old word for 'slacker' but with the undertone that the person is of nobility.  
> рюмка - a small glass for strong alcoholic beverages.  
> Час от часу не легче - an extremely polite way to say 'Well, fuck'.  
> не от проницательности природной, а по горькому опыту - 'not out of natural insight but from the bitter experience'. I don`t know why I didn`t just write it in English cause the translation`s pretty straightforward. I just think проницательность-insight and горький-bitter sound cooler in Russian.  
> ни черта - in the text is 'doesn`t know shit'. It`s just the word 'shit' in every single expression now is more of a proletarian development, bourgeoise used 'devil' instead.  
> как в лучших домах Парижа - it`s an expression but not in its full form, when people say 'like in the best houses of London and Paris', it means the best, the richest, of latest fashion, etc.  
> Вы что, свечку держали? - 'Were you present when I "cheated" on you?' basically, but literally it`s 'Were you holding a candle (in the bedroom as I was fucking someone)?'  
> рассол - I have no idea how it`s in English and I`m too lazy to search but it`s, you know, the liquid in cucumber preserves, people drink it to ease the hangover.  
> душегуб - like, a very dramatic and very old way to say 'killer' or 'assassin'


End file.
